


Midnight Sketches and Chess Pieces

by cero_ate



Category: Captain America (2011), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cuddling, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cero_ate/pseuds/cero_ate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When nightmares strike, Bucky and Steve deal with it their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Sketches and Chess Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Pervyficgirl for the betaing.

They didn’t say anything, on nights like this. They didn’t need to. They knew what nightmares kept each other up. Why they woke up in a cold sweat, whose voices they heard in their dreams, why they woke with tears pouring silently down their cheeks. It didn’t matter anyway. They would wake up and move to the couch.

On the couch, Steve would get his sketchbook out and just start filling page after page. He rarely left white space. The night sketches were raw, dark lines, bold shading. During daylight they became softer, gentler, little funny cartoon parodies of what was going on. At night…that was the time for sketches of blood and guts and bones. Of explosions and burnt out farmhouses. Of chains and guns.

Bucky would get out his smallest whittling knife. Natalia had requested a new chess set. She’d apparently lost her old one along the way. 

He was working right now on the black side, detailed pawns shaped like Hydra goons. He was debating on whether the white side’s pawns should be X-Men. It was all they were good for anyway. That was probably mean. He’d probably feel bad if he didn’t work on it when the moon showed into their rooms, and the rest of the mansion was still. Or at least the rest of the folks knew to stay the fuck out of their territory, even if they were awake. But they knew and he didn’t feel too bad about it. If Steve knew what he was thinking he’d probably make sad faces at Bucky and Bucky _would_ be forced to feel bad about it.

Slowly as the moon sank and the sun rose, they’d move toward each other. Even when they started at the opposite ends of the couch, one or the other would inch in closer and closer, until Steve was sketching with his free arm wrapped around Bucky’s torso. Bucky would wind up leaning up against Steve as he shaved off infinitely smaller pieces of the Hydra goons. Their bodies would perfectly align, even though it was a different alignment than they’d had before Steve got bigger. 

It didn’t matter to them though, they still fit. No matter what configuration Steve fit with Bucky and Bucky fit with Steve. They weren’t like those lego toys nowadays where they had to snap together just so, but like blocks you could stack together, except if they had each other they wouldn’t fall. He wasn’t good at analogies, especially not at stupid o’clock at night.

By the time the sun was over the horizon,they’d generally just be wrapped in each other’s arms as knives and sketchbooks, pencils and wood fell on the floor, and Steve’s arms fell around him. His arms would steal around Steve, holding him tight, and he’d bury his nose in Steve’s neck, He’d smell Steve’s scent, deliciously earthy and pine and coffee and Steve. He knew Steve wouldn’t let him fall, and Steve knew no matter what at least Bucky would come back every time.


End file.
